Twelve Oneshots of Christmas
by JoeMerl
Summary: The Broflovskis throw a holiday party, and of course, hilarity ensues. A new oneshot every day until Christmas. Some Stendy in one chapter. Chapter Twelve up! MERRY CHRISTMAS!
1. The Hankeys' Holiday Horror

_Ding-dong!_

"Oh, Gerald, the guests arriving! Hurry up, get the door!"

"Coming, honey!"

As Sheila Broflovski was finishing setting up the snacks at the refreshment table, Gerald came in from the kitchen and opened the door. "Randy! Sharon! Glad you could make it!"

"Oh, wouldn't miss it for the world," Sharon said, as Gerald took her and her husband's coats. Stan and his sister Shelley followed them inside.

"Is Kyle around?"

"Uh, you know, I actually haven't seen him in a while---_Kyle!_"

"_I'm in the bathroom!_" came a call from upstairs.

"Kyle honey, what are you doing up there? You've been up for more than an hour!"

"I'll be out in a few minutes!"

"So, uh, are we the first to arrive?" Randy asked, looking around at the room.

"Yes, but the other guests should be arriving---"

_Ding-dong!_

"Oh---"

Gerald opened the door again; Chef came in, carrying a platter full of snacks.

"Hello there, everybody! I'm here for the party!"

"Oh, great, and you brought food---you shouldn't have, thank you---"

Already bored of the adults, Stan wandered away from the group and up the stairs. As soon as he reached the next floor he saw that the bathroom door was ajar.

"Kyle?"

"In here!"

Stan entered. It was just as he had expected---Kyle, not sitting _on_ the toilet, but _beside _it with Ike, waiting anxiously with a half-eaten plate of Christmas cookies on the tiled floor.

"Dude, you're eating in the bathroom? Sick!"

"Well, they were supposed to be for Mr. Hankey, but he's taking forever..." He checked his watch anxiously. "I mean, it's already Christmas Eve and he hasn't shown up yet! What if he's not coming?!"

"Dude, don't freak out. He'll come."

"But what if---"

Suddenly something brown shot out of the toilet. Kyle let out a cry and jumped back as the ugly, smelly _thing_ landed on the toilet seat. "_HOOOOOOOWDY_-HO!"

"Mr. Hankey! You're here!"

"Why, shucks, Kyle, 'course I'm here! I wouldn't pass up a chance to visit you all during Christmas time. Shucks, this bathroom smells so nice and flow'ry..."

"Stinky-stick," said Ike, pointing at Mr. Hankey.

"But what took you so long?" asked Kyle, as he and Stan bent low (_but not too low, _Stan thought, wrinkling his nose) over him.

"Oh, I just had to get Autumn and the kids ready for the party---alright now, fellas, you can come up now!"

"_Whee!_"

Three smaller pieces of poo cried with glee as they shot out of the toilet to land beside Mr. Hankey, along with another, Mr. Hankey-sized turd with a pink dress on and a margarita glass in one hand.

"Y'all remember my wife Autumn and the little nuggets now, don'tcha?"

"_Howdy-ho!_" called Cornwallis and Amber, waving.

"Der, hey!" said Simon, blinking and grinning stupidly.

"Oh...hey," said Stan, shooting Kyle a look. He looked back with equal worry; the Hankeys weren't exactly the most stable of families. Not that any of the other families they knew were, of course.

"Hey!" Autumn cried drunkedly, pointing randomly at Kyle. "You're shtaring at my breashtsh, aren't you?!"

"What?! No!"

"Oh, yesh you are!"

"Okay, Autumn...Autumn, you're drunk. Calm down."

"Hey! Don't you talk to _me! He _was shtaring at my breashtsh!"

"No I wasn't!"

"Mom, Dad, calm down," Amber said, somewhat pleadingly.

"Uh, yeah. Come on, let's go downstairs," Kyle said quickly. "The other guests are starting to arrive, I think my mom and dad are gonna light up the menorah soon---"

"Hey! Yeah, you!" Autumn had turned her attention to Stan now. "I bet you'd like it if I jusht shlipped out of this 'ere dress and went running _naked_all around thish room. Wouldn't you?!"

"No, dude! Sick!"

"Now, now, Autumn...you're drunk, okay? Maybe you should just go back home and lie down---" Mr. Hankey put his hands on her shoulders---or where her stick-like arms connected to her body, anyway---but she slapped him away.

"Hey! Don't you touch me, bitch! Not that you ever do, anymore..."

"Hey!"

"Mom, Dad, please calm down," Cornwallis pleaded. Beside him, Simon giggled stupidly.

"Yeah, let's just go downstairs---" Kyle began, but Mr. Hankey cut him off.

"Now listen here, Autumn," he said, pointing at her and looking uncharacteristically mad, "I am sick of all your drunken rants, okay?! You're gonna stop it right now, because I'm not gonna put up with it anymore!"

"Huh!" she scoffed, sloshing her drink. "That'sh not the only thing you don't 'put up' anymore, ish it?!"

Mr. Hankey's eyes widened, then set into a look of rage. He drew away, pulled back his fist, and with a sudden cry punched Autumn straight on the face.

And Autumn's face, being made of soft, pliable feces, flew off from her body and splatted against the side of the bathtub.

Everybody froze. Mr. Hankey's eyes widened in shock. The nuggets' mouths dropped open. Kyle and Stan gaped.

Autumn's headless body remained frozen upright for a moment, then dropped down onto its side across the toilet seat.

A moment of silence. Then, everybody started to scream.

"AGH!"

"MOMMY! Daddy killed Mommy, Daddy killed Mommy!"

"WHYYY?!"

"Oh my G-d! What have I done?!"

"NO!"

The three nuggets began to scream and jump, bouncing around the room and smearing feces everywhere. Mr. Hankey had fallen to his knees (...or onto the lower third of his body, anyway), and was screaming and crying dramatically beside his wife's corpse.

"Oh, man!" Kyle said, hands on his face as he watched the chaos. "What are we gonna do?!"

Stan looked around quickly. "Wait---I have an idea!"

He rushed out of the room. He returned a moment later with his hands full of something brown.

"Quick, get her head!"

Kyle rushed over to the bathtub and (having long ago lost any sense of revulsion about touching the Hankeys) grabbed Autumn's head. He quickly reattached it to her body as Stan came over and dropped one of Chef's Chocolate Salty Balls into her mouth.

For a moment nothing happened. Then Autumn suddenly blinked and looked up, rubbing her head. "Agh...what happened?"

Gasps! "Mommy's alive!"

"Mommy's back?!"

"Hallelujah!"

"Oh! Thank goodness!" cried Mr. Hankey, rushing forward to hug her. "I thought I'd lost you!"

"Hey!" Autumn was up on her feet (...oh, dang it, you know what I mean!) again, and jabbed Mr. Hankey hard in the chest. "You killed me again, didn't you?!"

"Well, I---"

"Oh, you keep doing thish, you little---"

"Well, maybe if you didn't---"

"Oh, Mom, Dad, please don't fight, it's Christmas!"

"Uh, Kyle?" Stan said. "Maybe we should just go downstairs."

"...Yeah."

And they turned and left the Hankey family to work this out on their own.


	2. He Called It

"Oh, _in the meadow we can build a snowman—_"

"_And pretend that heh— he is Parson Brown—_"

"_He'll say 'Are you married?'/We'll say—_"

"Hey, what are you gaywads doing back here?"

Butters and Pip looked up as Cartman, followed behind by Stan and Kyle, stuck their heads out the Broflovskis' backdoor.

"Oh, hey guys!" Butters said, smiling brightly. "We just got a little bored playing inside, so we decided to come out and play in the snow for a while. We're building a snowman!" he added, motioning unnecessarily to the vaguely humanoid snowdrift they were crafting.

"Yes, and a jolly good snowman it's turning out to be, isn't it?" Pip said proudly, sticking two bits of old charcoal in for its eyes.

"Well, your parents are looking for you, Butters. You need to come back in."

"A-alright, Stan, tell 'em I'll be right in. We're just waiting for Dougie to find something to put on its head and we'll be done."

"I found something!"

Dougie squeezed his way between Kyle and Cartman. "I found this old hat in the closet."

"Oh, brilliant! It will look perfect."

"Yeah, great work, Dougie."

"Wait…did he say the closet?" Kyle said slowly.

"Yeah."

"Dude, what's wrong?" Stan asked.

"That's the hat we got from your attic!"

"The hat from—oh, shit, dude, you said you were gonna burn that!"

"I was, but—oh, guys, don't put that on—"

But it was too late— to their horror, Pip had just jumped up and stuck the hat right on top of the snowman's head. As Stan, Kyle and Cartman drew back in fear, he, Butters and Dougie drew back to admire their work.

"Wow, it looks perfect, don't it?" Butters said excitedly.

"Why, yes, it looks smashing! It—oh, my, what—"

The snowman had started to shake. Kyle, Stan and Cartman were backing away from it with wide eyes. Butters cocked his head. "What the— "

"_RAAAGGGHHH!_"

A huge, fanged mouth appeared on its face as tentacles shot out of its sides. Pip and Butters screamed as they reached out, grabbed the two of them and threw them carelessly over the snowman's shoulders against the wall of the shed. Then the snowman reared back and hissed angrily at the sky.

"FROSTY'S BACK!" Cartman screamed.

"RUN!" Stan cried, as the three turned and ran back into the house.

"Frosty?!" Dougie said, backing away from the beast. "What are you—_agh!_"

Barely ducking out of the way of the snow-demon's tentacle, Dougie turned and ran after the others into the house.

****

————————————————————

"Aw, come on, Craig, don't be so depressed. It's Christmas," Bebe said, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

"Yeah, man," Clyde said. "We're at a party. What's your problem?"

"We're at _Kyle's_ party. That means that sooner or later, something weird is going to happen. We'll be attacked by terrorists, or the government, or crab people, or something any minute now. Because that stuff _always_ happens whenever we hang around those guys." He put his head on the table, eyes closed in stoic despair.

"Oh, come on. That doesn't _always_ happen around those guys," Bebe said fairly.

"_AAAGGGHHH!_"

"_RAAAGGGHHH!_"

Just then, Stan, Kyle and Cartman ran past their table, followed by that second-grader Dougie, followed by a screaming, roaring, tentacle-waving snowman.

"GET TO THE FIREPLACE!"

"QUICK, SOMEBODY GRAB A LOG!"

Clyde and Bebe stared wide-eyed as the group ran past. Craig remained slumped over the table.

"…See? Told ya."

* * *

That part with Craig and the others was originally going to be longer, and make up Chapter Three, but I thought that would be kind of lame to stretch one story into two parts. Though now I need to come up with a new idea...

Anyway, hope everyone's seen _The Spirit of Christmas: Jesus vs. Frosty,_ because otherwise the above won't make sense. I also hope that people leave reviews, because those are nice. I leave reviews when I read your stories. Share the wealth. :-D


	3. O Holiday Tree

The next two chapters I call the "Angsty Jew" story arc. ;-) Hope you enjoy!

* * *

As the other party-goers were calming down after the Frosty attack, and his father and a few of the other men were cleaning up the sloshy mess the beast had left in its wake, Ike was standing by the party's Christmas table, utterly fascinated.

Sitting there, on the table, was a Christmas tree.

Or "holiday tree," whatever his parents called it. It was a little thing, not a big, _real _Christmas tree like Ike had seen at Stan's house, more like a nicer version of the pathetic sapling at Kenny's. It was decorated with little lights, little paper ornaments, and a little paper star on top.

Normally the Broflovskis never had any kind of Christmas tree, or holiday tree, or even a Hanukkah bush. This had been put up for the holiday party— not a "Christmas party," mind you, because the Broflovskis were proud to be Jewish and not going to give in to the gentile December assimilation mayhem, thank you very much. Never mind the fact that Christmas music was playing on the radio, that all the guests were greeting one another with "Merry Christmas," or that everybody had and would continue afterwards to call this "the Broflovski's Christmas party." It was a holiday party nonetheless.

Ike's little three-year-old mind, as always years ahead of his barely-continent body, thought about all of this while he gazed up at the little tree.

And in the back of that mind dim memories began to play…memories of Christmas lights inside a warm little Canadian cottage, even as the sounds of gunfire and Diet Molotov Cocktails exploded in the cold air outside.

__

"Well, Elise, what do you think?"

"Oh, it's just a beautiful tree, Harry! Look, Peter. What do you think of your first Christmas tree?"

That had been a long, long time ago, Ike knew, back in what felt like a different life, when he was with a different family and celebrated Christmas like normal people. Granted, Hanukkah was nice, but…well, in the Broflovski house at least, it had a general dearth of Christmas trees.

Ike reached out to touch it…

This tree was a rarity, who knew when he would have one of his very own again…

His hand got closer…

It was plastic, he knew, not real like the tree he could so dimly remember, but still…

He was almost there…

"No, no, Ike!"

And suddenly Ike's mom was on him and carrying him away.

"_No!_" he screamed, arm still outstretched in a vain effort to reach it. "_'Ismas t'ee!_"

"That's right, _bubbeleh, _but you're not supposed to mess with the holiday tree. Come on—"

"_No!_"

Sheila brought him across the room, away from the Christmas tree, and towards another table decorated with a menorah, dreidels and a bowl full of chocolate coins. Kyle was already sitting there, looking as depressed as Ike felt.

"Here, Ike, you can play over here at the Hannukah table. Kyle, dear, could you watch your brother for a little bit?"

"Huh? Oh...okay, Mom."

She turned and walked away. Ike slumped down beside his brother's chair, frowning. Then he sighed.

Oh well. Maybe they'd have another "holiday party" next year.

* * *

Tomorrow's story: Kyle finds someone else who's depressed by the holiday season.


	4. AngstyChrist

"You know, this is kind of a score for Cartman's Jews-are-greedy stupidity," Kyle muttered, surveying the golden coin in his hand dully. "I mean, half of our holiday is about gambling. I mean, what's that about?"

"Cookie monster," Ike muttered. His real thoughts, Kyle knew, were probably much more profound, but as always his little brain had a hard time articulating them to through his three-year-old mouth.

Kyle, sitting at the "Hanukkah Table" with Ike beside him, slumped down in his seat as he surveyed the party-goers. He tore the foil off of the fake coin and tossed the chocolate into his mouth, chewing it for a moment before throwing the empty wrapped onto the pile beside him. He sighed.

He heard another sigh as someone sat in the seat beside him. He looked up, startled. "Damien?"

"Oh. Hey," the Princeling of Darkness muttered, looking morose.

"What's your problem?"

"This," he said simply, waving his hand to encompass the happy crowds.

"Oh." Kyle slumped down again. "Yeah. I guess the son of the devil isn't really supposed to celebrate Christmas, is he?"

"Oh, I celebrate Christmas," Damien said, sounding bitter.

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's one of my dad's favorite holidays. He even has this whole song-and-dance routine he puts on every year about it." Damien slumped back in his chair, glaring. "It's fucking annoying. I hate it."

"Oh." A pause. "Well, at least you get to celebrate it. I'm Jewish. Right now my friends are all talking about what they're hoping Santa will give them tomorrow, and all I ever get for Hanukkah is a bunch of stupid dreidels. And insults from Cartman."

"That sucks."

"Yeah."

Silence fell between them; both looked out at the crowd. Butters and Pip (recovered from their injuries with the Frosty monster) were playing Pin the Nose on Rudolph, a collection of girls who were putting bits of garland on the little Christmas tree across the room, at the radio blaring "Jingle Bell Rock" out at everyone…

The Jew and the Satanist both sighed in unison.

Damien held out a hand. "Pass the gelt," he muttered.

Kyle slid the bowl of candy money across the table to him. Between the three of them, it was empty within a few minutes.

* * *

Okay, Broflovski family Hanukkah angst over. Next chapter will be funny. And maybe a bit romantic...


	5. Wendy's Christmas Romance

The first (and possibly only, I've not totally decided) romance story...a break from the last two angsty chapters. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Stan stood across the room at the refreshment table, pouring himself a cup of punch.

A few feet above him, unnoticed, was a sprig of mistletoe.

Wendy watched him, obliviously standing under it, her breath caught in her throat. Her boyfriend, there, under the mistletoe. The perfect opportunity for the perfect, most romantic of Christmas moments.

But, Wendy knew, in her case that moment would not be easy to get.

Images of the past flashed through her mind.

Three years ago:

__

"Sta-an…we're standing under the mistletoe."

"BLEAH!"

"Eew!"

Two years ago:

__

"Oh, Stan, look…mistletoe."

He turned red. "Really?"

She leaned in…

"BLEAH!"

"Eew!"

Last year:

__

"Oh, uh, Wendy, look…m-mistletoe."

"Oh?" she asked, falsely coy.

The two leaned in— then—

"BLEAH—"

Wendy whipped the Santa hat off her head and put it in front of his face; it caught the puke and filled up, heavy and dripping like an airplane barf bag.

"Heh…sorry," Stan said sheepishly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Do you, uh…still want that kiss?" he asked, his breath sending the strench of old meat and Cheesy-Poofs onto Wendy's face.

She wrinkled her nose. "...No thanks…"

But this year…_this_ year, she would have her prize.

Stan had turned for a moment to say something to Jimmy…Wendy bit her lip…don't move, damn it, stay under…yes, Jimmy was walking away, Stan was still under that little plant. He finished sipping his drink—

He turned to walk away—

"_NO!_"

Stan looked up, startled—Wendy was suddenly flying through the air toward him, and before Stan could do anything she had suddenly grabbed him by the sides of his face and pulled him forward, locking lips. Stan's eyes went wide—and his cheeks suddenly bulged—

After a quick second Wendy released him and dropped onto the floor, rolling away across the carpet. Stan's mouth exploded out a blast of brown sludge, just sailing past her feet to splatter over a shocked Butters standing a few feet away.

"_BLEAH!_"

"_Agh!_"

Wendy rolled for a moment, then stopped and jumped up. Stan fell back against the table, blinking confusedly. Wendy grinned and jumped into the air, fists raised triumphantly.

"YES! I did it! Finally, the perfectly romantic Christmas moment! _Yes!_"

And without another word she ran off to tell Bebe about her grand achievement.

Stan blinked, rubbing his head. "…What just happened?"

"Oh…my shirt," Butters muttered, holding his arms out and frowning down at the mess.

* * *

There, I added romance. Now please leave reviews!


	6. Kwanzaa?

_Earlier that day..._

"Alright, now, we have a table for Hanukkah, a table for Christmas..._bubbeleh,_ could you bring me that bag over there?"

"What is this stuff?" Kyle asked, peeking in as he handed the bag to his mother.

"The things for the Kwanzaa table, dear."

"Kwanzaa table?"

"That's right, Kyle," Sheila said, setting out a series of candles and other small decorations onto the black tablecloth. "We're trying to be fair to all the holidays people celebrate this time of year. Hanukkah, Christmas...and Kwanzaa."

"But...does anyone coming to our party even _celebrate_ Kwanzaa?"

"Well, I don't know, but it doesn't really matter. The point is, we're helping to spread awareness," Sheila said smartly, standing back to admire her work.

"Okay. So...what _is_ Kwanzaa?"

"Oh, I don't know. Something black people celebrate," Sheila said simply, waving the question away.

-------------------------------------------------

Token stood in front of the Kwanzaa table, taking in the decorations. Kyle walked up to him.

"Hey, dude."

"Oh, hey, Kyle."

"So, do you, uh, like our Kwanzaa table?"

"Oh, yeah. I just have one question."

"Yeah?"

"...What the hell _is_ Kwanzaa, anyway?"

* * *

I have my own theory that nobody actually celebrates Kwanzaa; rather it's part of some massive conspiracy set up by an evil shadowy group for reasons mere mortals cannot possibly comprehend. Which may turn into a fic for later...


	7. Christmas Shoes

This could be read as angst, but it's really meant to be humor. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

"Hey, guys, I'm heading to the kitchen to get some more Cheesy-Poofs."

"'Kay."

As Kyle moved away from the snack table where Stan and Kenny were standing, a snatch of music drifted over from the radio.

**_Sir, I wanna buy these shoes  
__For my momma please..._**

"Oh, great, it's that stupid emo song again," Stan muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah," Kyle called back, making a face. "They play it all the time, and it's so stupid."

**_It's Christmas Eve  
__And these shoes are just her size..._**

"Mmfuckin mmaumin," Kenny muttered.

"Yeah."

Kyle headed for the kitchen, moving carefully through the crowds, making a face and covering his ears as he passed the blaring radio.

_**Could you hurry, Sir?  
Daddy says there's not much time...**_

Ugh. Stupid song.

As he reached the kitchen door, he suddenly heard another sound. He froze.

"Whuh...sniff-sniff..."

"Huh?"

_**You see, she's been sick for quite a while...**_

"Whuh...sniff-sniff..."

Kyle looked around for a moment, then shrugged. Whatever.

He opened the kitchen door.

_**Know these shoes will make her smile...**_

"What the..."

**_Want her to look beeeaaautiful..._**

The big red lump was sitting hunched over on a stool beside a smaller little radio, making the soft crooning noises Kyle was hearing.

Kyle's mouth dropped open.

**_...If Momma meets Jee-sus tonight..._**

"Cartman? Are you---are you _crying?_"

"Shut your fucking Jew-mouth, Kyle!" Cartman screamed, pointing angrily as he wiped his eyes with his other hand, then went back to sobbing as Kyle stood there with a look of shock.

_**...Want her to look beautiful,  
If Momma meets Jee-sus tonight...**_

* * *

...Seriously, that is a sad song, though. _Sniffle sniffle..._

The song is "Christmas Shoes" by Bob Carlisle. I don't own it. Or _South Park,_ for that matter. At least not last time I checked. Anyway, whether you found that funny or sweet or maudlin or stupid (or any combination of the four), please review and tell me why you liked/hated it.

And speaking of meeting Jesus, I have to go write the next chapter...hint-hint.


	8. Party Crashers

Another day, another chapter. Oy, I'm starting to regret doing this. :-\ Anyway, I hope you enjoy. And for those who don't know, Scott Malkinson is the geeky kid from "Elementary School Musical." He hath a listhp and diabetesth.

* * *

Jesus sighed, looking across the street to the Broflovski home, bright with holiday decorations and loud with the sounds of music and laughter. He kicked the ground with one sandaled foot, grimacing.

"Hey...aren't you Jesthusth?"

He looked up. "Oh. Hello, Scott Malkinson, my son."

Scott looked annoyed. "Why doesth everybody alwaysth refer to me by my full name?"

"So we don't get you mixed up with Scott Tenorman, probably."

"Oh." Scott sat down on the curb beside Jesus, frowning with him to the Broflovskis' across the street. "Stho. You weren't invited either?"

"No." Jesus heaved another heavy sigh. "This always happens, every year! On my own birthday! Everybody else has big plans for Christmas, I clear my schedule, and then, nothing. An invite to church, at best." He waved his hand angrily at the house. "I _never_ get invited to a party."

"Hmm," Scott said, nodding. "Well, you do stheem like you'd be kind of a killjoy."

"Hey!"

"Well, I'm just sthaying, probably half the people in that party are doing horrible sthinsth right now. I don't think they'd want you to ruin their fun."

"Oh." Jesus slumped down again. "Well, it's still not fair."

"Yeah. Nobody ever invitesth _me_ to those kindsth of thing either."

"That sucks."

"Yeah."

There was a long pause. Then Scott looked up. "You wanna crashth it?"

"Crash?" Jesus looked up, frowning. "I don't know..."

"Come on. You know you deserve to be at your own birthday party."

Jesus thought about it for a moment. "Well, it's not like we even can. They probably wouldn't even let us through the front door."

Scott stared back at the house. "There are ways around that..."

------------------------------------------

"Are you sure this will work, Scott?!" Jesus called down from the top of the neighbor's roof, looking down at Scott positioned below in the Broflovski's yard.

"Sthure it will! You just have to sthwing across on that rope, busht through the window and then you're insthide!"

Jesus considered the rope in his hand, tied on one end to a tree in the Broflovski's backyard. He shook his head. "But wouldn't it be smarter to just break through the window some other way and---"

"Trusht me, Jesthusth!"

Jesus sighed. "Alright..."

Jesus looked down again, swallowed, then took a few steps back and closed his eyes. "Here goes nothing." His eyes flew open, he let out an almighty war cry, ran along the length of the roof and leapt---

SLAM!

---only to crash against the side of the Broflovski house, missing the window by a foot, and fall to the ground.

Scott's eyes went wide. "Jesthusth!" he cried, running over. "Are you alright?!"

"Uh...did anybody get the number on that truck?" he asked drunkedly, before falling back down onto the lawn.

Before Scott could do anything more, the backdoor suddenly swung open. Scott jumped. "What's going on out here?" asked Gerald Broflovski, his wife following close behind him.

"Uh-oh," said Scott.

"Jesus? Mr. Christ, is that you? Are you alright?" Sheila asked.

"_Ugh._" Jesus climbed to his feet, looking beat-up and disoriented. And pissed. "I'm alright. No thanks to _you._ Now I'm sick of this! Why did you two throw a party the day before my birthday and not even think to invite me?!"

"What?! We invited you," Sheila said.

Jesus blinked. "Huh?"

"Yeah, we sent you an invitation in the mail. Didn't you get it?"

"No, I---" Suddenly Jesus' face broke into a look of comprehension. "Oh, I get---did you send it to my old address? You know, the place where I was living before I was killed in Iraq?"

"Yes."

"Well, that explains---I live over on Maple Street now, in the Donovans' old place." He chuckled. "This---oh, keeps happening with all my mail---"

"Oh, well, that explains it---would you like to come in?"

"Sure!" Jesus said, grinning. The Broflovskis ushered him in.

Scott ran up. "Hey! Can I come in too?"

"What?" Sheila looked down at him as though having just noticed he was there. "Oh, I'm sorry, Scott, you weren't invited."

"What? But I---"

SLAM! Without another word the door was unceremoniously slammed in his face.

Scott stared, dumbstruck, for a moment. Then he glared. "Fine! Enjoy your party, you fuckin' kikesth!" he yelled, waving a fist. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and stormed off through the snow.

* * *

Not sure if I should have gone with a different insult at the end, but I was going for maximum shock value. If you think I went too far, tell me in a review. Because I want more reviews. I know you're reading, so leave one, damn it! Yeah, I mean you! It's Christmas, so give a little bit, you ass!

...See you tomorrow! :-D


	9. Dreaming of a Goth Christmas

Okay, sorry this chapter is getting posted late...I had some trouble writing this one, but hopefully it's good. Good enough to get an actual _review,_ at least. You know, I don't mind if you tell me it sucks, just tell me **something, **please! It's rather discouraging, you know, especially since I take the time to review everything I read.

Okay, well, here's the chapter for December 22, featuring those minor-but-oddly-popular characters, the Goths. And such creative names I gave them, didn't I?

* * *

Henrietta leaned against the staircase railing, taking a drag out of her cigarette and spitting smoke into the air. "_Ugh._ I can't believe my stupid parents dragged me to another one of these stupid Christmas parties."

"Majorly," Redd agreed, flicking hair from his eyes and ashes from his cigarette butt. "This is, like, the _third_ Christmas party I've been to this year. I don't even know whose place this _is._"

"Kyle Broflovski," Curly muttered.

"Broflovski? Isn't he one of those kids who always have the really weird stuff happen to them?" Henrietta wondered.

"Killer snowman before you arrived," Curly said. "Plus I think there's two pieces of shit having a domestic dispute in the upstairs bathroom."

"Ah."

There was a moment of silence at the four Goths glared around the happy room of dancing people, the bright decorations and colored lights, from their own dark, smoky corner. "This sucks," Henrietta muttered, flicking ashes away.

"Yeah," Curly agreed.

"Totally," said Shorty.

"Hey---what's going on down there?"

The four looked up. Butters Stotch was standing on the staircase above, staring down at them. He had just changed out of his puke-stained shirt into one Kyle had lent him (and then changed _again,_ when an attempt to use the bathroom had ruined that one as well), and had also managed to acquire a Santa hat somewhere. Henrietta wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"_Ugh._ Go away, you conformist little freak."

"Now hey! That's not a very nice way to talk to people." He hopped down the stairs towards them, frowning. "What are y'all doing back there, anyway?"

"What's it to you, asshole?" Redd snapped, with another twitch of the face to throw back his hair.

"W-well, I just thought it must not be very much fun here in the corner," Butters muttered sheepishly, racking his knuckles together. "Why don't you guys come out and come play with everyone else?"

The Goths shared a disgusted scoff. "We don't _play,_" Redd snapped. "That's for immature little conformist crybabies like you."

"But it's Christmas! Why---why you gotta have fun at Christmas time, at least!"

"_No,_ we don't."

"But why not?"

"Because we're _Goths! _Gaw!"

"Aw, come on, now. Wh-why I'll bet you guys would really like it if you came out and had fun like everybody else."

"No we _wouldn't_! Go away!"

"You sure?"

"Yes, we're sure!" Redd snapped. "Now _leave!_"

"Oh...al-alright, then." He dropped his head, turned and walked sadly away.

The Goth sighed, rolling their eyes. "Conformist butthole."

"Yeah."

The silent smoking resumed. In the background, the radio switched from "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" to a faster, even more ridiculously cheery Christmas song.

And suddenly Butters flew back across the room, sliding on the carpet to the middle of their circle.

"_Gaw!_"

"What the---"

"_Rocking around the Christmas tree  
__At the Christmas party hop  
Mistletoe hung where you can see  
Every couple tries to stop!"_

"AGH! Go away, you little---_agh!_"

Butters suddenly grabbed Henrietta and Redd's hands, pulled them forward and forcing them to start dancing with him, still singing loudly.

"_Rocking around the Christmas tree  
Let the Christmas spirit ring!  
Later we'll have some pumpkin pie  
And do some carolling!"_

"Agh! Let go!"

"_You will get a sentimental  
Feeling when you hear  
Voices singing 'Let's be jolly,'  
Deck the halls with boughs of---_WHOA!"

Redd and Henrietta broke free of his grasp---along with the other two, they grabbed Butters and lifted him bodily, kicking and crying out, into the air, before throwing him away from their little corner and across the room.

"_Agh!_"

Curly sighed. "There."

"Finally," Henrietta muttered, taking out a new cigarette. "Little douche-bag."

"Yeah."

The four went back to smoking in silence as the song changed again to "Jingle Bell Rock." After a moment, Henrietta sighed again. "Man, this party sucks."

"Yeah."

* * *

Ah...poor Goths. Unable to see the irony.

Well, I hope you enjoyed. Now _leave a review, damn it! _


	10. Kenny Claus

Chocolate coins.

Kenny glared down at them angrily. Stupid Cartman had thrown _chocolate coins_out the front door to lure him out of the house. And, even worse, he'd fallen it. Stupid Cartman. Stupid gelt. Stupid Kenny.

And of course, the whole point of the prank---he was now locked out.

"Mrrrrr," Kenny growled, pounding on the door, but it was no use---from the sounds of it Cartman had immediately rushed to turn up the radio as loud as it could go, then closed all the curtains and blinds so he couldn't wave to anyone for help. Damn it. Cartman was stupid, but he sure could be smart when he wanted to be.

"Mmaw mmit," Kenny grumbled, stepping away from the door and hopping off the stoop. There was no way back in! Front door, back door, windows all latched...how was he going to do it?

Kenny glanced up at the night sky and sighed. And something caught his eye.

The Broflovski's chimney.

Kenny paused. Well, he thought wryly, it _is _Christmas Eve, after all...

----------------------------------------

"Mmmokay, mmaremful...maremful..."

Kenny moved slowly across the Broflovskis' roof, slippery with ice and snow, headed for the chimney on the other end of the house. Damn the design, making it impossible for him to put the ladder right up to the chimney...made it all the more dangerous.

_This is stupid,_ Kenny thought. _I could really get hurt up here. Maybe I should just go back and---_

Just then, his foot slipped on the ice.

"Mmo mmit!"

Kenny slid onto his back and began to slide down the sloping roof---he let out a cry as he suddenly flew over the edge and began to fall toward the cold ground below. He screamed, closed his eyes---

And froze.

Kenny blinked. He was suspended about ten feet in the air, upside down, his foot caught on something---twisting his body, he saw the words HAPPY CHANUKAH in big, golden letters, a huge banner held by straps that now twisted around his ankle. He breathed a sigh of relief. _Thank God,_ he thought, wiping his brow. For a second there, he'd thought he was a goner. Again.

Carefully, Kenny managed to twist his body so that he could grab onto the edge of the roof, untangle his ankle and lift himself back up. Once again he slowly---this time on hands and knees---made his way across the slippery expanse to the chimney, and this time he reached it, ever so carefully using it as a support to stand. Alright, cool. He was there. Now all he needed to do was shimmy his way down and into the house. Simple.

Kenny carefully hoisted himself up and looked in. No fire. Cool. And a nice, easy tube down into Kyle's living room. He just had to put his back against one side, his feet curled up against the other...yeah, like the Grinch. Except he was smaller, so he didn't even have to deal with that "stuck only once/for a minute or two" crap.

He was about halfway down when he heard Mr. Marsh's voice echo up from inside. "Hey, could somebody turn the heat up? It's a little cool in here."

"Don't worry," said Mr. Broflovski. "I'll just put the fire on."

"Mmat?!" Kenny screamed, eyes going wide.

"Oh, yeah, that'll give it a better holiday feel anyway..."

"Mmo! Mmo mmoliday mmeal! Mmon't mmut mme mire---"

_Pffft!_ With the flick of a switch inside the house, a fire sprang up a few feet below him, blasting him instantly with a wave of heat.

Kenny jumped in surprise, and the back of his parka and the soles of his shoes slipped on the bricks.

Oh shit.

"Mmooooo!"

Kenny plummeted and hit the fire. With a muffled scream he was consumed in seconds, leaving a charred skeleton and a burnt parka behind.

Kyle and Stan, lounging nearby with cups of punch, jumped.

"Oh my G-d! They killed Kenny!"

"You bastards!"

Oh well. At least he made it back inside.

* * *

I think this might be my favorite chapter. It's not wildly original, but it seems like something _South Park _might do without just rehashing actual jokes like my first few chapters did.

And incidentally, I know that with the obvious exception of Santa (who is magical, after all), a person cannot fit down a chimney, because it's narrower inside than it is at the openings. But I can imagine _South Park_ ignoring that fact, so I do too.

Now, go leave a review, damn it, and Merry Christmas Eve Eve!


	11. Santa With a Shotgun

As the rats dragged Kenny's body from the now-extinguished fireplace, Stan looked at his watch. "Oh, man. It's already almost midnight."

"Really?" Kyle checked his. "Wow. We should probably be asleep right now. I wonder where our parents are."

-----------------------------------

"Okay," Randy said, buttoning up his coat beside the Broflovski's hot tub, "This time, we _really _don't tell anyone about what just happened, alright?"

"Agreed," Gerald said.

"Ladies?"

"Agreed," Sharon and Sheila said in unison, eying each other awkwardly.

-----------------------------------

"Hey guys."

Stan and Kyle looked up. "Oh. Hey, Tweek."

"Hey, I thought we were at home with the measels or something," Kyle said, frowning.

"What? Oh, no...I got better," Tweek said calmly, taking a sip of his drink.

Stan raised an eyebrow. "You sure, dude? You seem...different, somehow."

"Oh, really?" Tweek raised his cup. "Must be this eggnog...or something. Calming. Anyway," he said, suddenly perking up, "I got each of you guys a present." He put down the sack he was holding in one hand and took out two brightly-wrapped boxes.

"A present? Oh, sweet!"

"Yeah, thanks, dude!"

"Well, open it!" Tweek said, smiling an uncharacteristically bright and untwitchy smile.

"Okay, cool!"

"Yeah!"

The two began to rip off the paper. Neither was paying enough attention to Tweek to see the way his eyes narrowed and glittered as he watched them.

Just then, there was a loud _DONG! DONG! _from the Broflovski's clock, and two series of _BEEP! BEEP!_s from Stan and Kyle's watches.

And just at that moment, a pair of heavy black boots slammed down into the fireplace.

Stan and Kyle both looked up, startled. Their eyes widened. "SANTA!"

Tweek's eyes widened too, but he backed away. "What?! No!"

Santa's face narrowed in a look of fury. As Stan and Kyle rushed forward to greet him, he suddenly pulled a shotgun from behind his back. The two children froze. "EVERYBODY HIT THE DECK!" Santa screamed, cocking his gun and throwing it forward.

"Agh!"

"What the fuck?!---"

Stan, Kyle, and all the party-goers except for Tweek suddenly threw themselves to the ground.

_BANG! BANG!_

_BOOM! BOOM!_

Santa fired at each of the two packages Tweek had brought. Each exploded instantly with a huge, fiery explosion. Kyle looked up, eyes widened. "What the---"

Santa's gun whirled around to face Tweek. The little boy now looked much more like his usual self, eyes wide with terror. "No!"

"Santa! What are you doing?!" Kyle screamed.

"Santa knows what he's doing," the jolly old elf said simply, and fired.

_BANG!_

The top half of Tweek's head blasted off from his body, which slumped to the floor. Stan and Kyle's mouths were open in horror.

"Oh my G-d! They killed Tweek!"

"Why?!"

Santa's eyes narrowed. "That wasn't the real Tweek," he said darkly.

Kyle turned to face the decapitated body. "What?! What to you---_AGH!_"

Suddenly a pink claw shot out from what remained of Tweek's body, followed by a head with two tiny, glaring black eyes. Partygoers jumped back in shock. Stan gaped. "Dude, what the hell..."

"So, Kringle," the creature snapped in its droning voice, jabbing a pincer towards him, "we meet again. But you will not stop our plans this time. Crab People, _ATTACK!_"

Instantly, about a dozen guests, all of the presents around the room and several of the tablecloths burst apart, and Crab People rushed throughout the room of screaming party-goers. Santa, however, jumped out of the fireplace with fire in his eyes.

"Humanity! TO WAR!" he screamed, and began firing left and right, as Stan and Kyle ran crouching across the room to hide behind an overturned table.

And as they crouched there, listening to the sounds of shrieks and gunshots as Santa let loose a bloodbath against the invading subterranean crustaceans, Stan turned to Kyle and asked, "So, does this beat out Canada as our weirdest Christmas ever?"

"...Yeah."

* * *

Merry Christmas Eve, everyone! Only one more chapter to go. Now, would somebody_ please leave me a freakin' review?! _Dah!


	12. Christmas Cleanup Epilogue

Panting, Santa dropped his gun to the floor, falling to his knees. "There," he said, breath ragged, clothes bloody and torn. "The last one...dead."

"Wow! That was---that was some great crab-killing, Santa," Butters said, peeking his head out from his hiding place and racking his knuckles together.

"Oh, but look at this place!" Sheila cried, spreading her hands to encompass the room full of overturned furniture, torn decorations and dead bodies everywhere.

"HOWWWWDY-HO!"

Mr. Hankey flew through the air and landed on the mantelpiece, gloved hands on his hips.

"Mr. Hankey! You and Autumn stopped fighting?" Kyle asked.

"We sure did." He shielded his mouth for a second. "There _are_ still a few more of Chef's Chocolate Salty Balls, right?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Okay, then, no problem!" He beamed. "Well, this place sure is a _mess!_ We need to get it fixed up!"

And with a loud "WHEEEE!," he hopped off the mantle and began to swirl around the room in a gigantic brown whirlwind. The front door opened, and all the trash and dead bodies flew into the air and were swept magically away. A moment later Mr. Hankey was back in place, with the walls slightly shit-smeared but the room otherwise clean.

"There! Now this place sure is starting to look Christmassy!"

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Hankey!" Sheila said.

"Your welcome, ma'am. And I'd just like to thank all the people who've been takin' the time to read this story. I hope you all enjoyed, and that you have a happy Boxing Day!"

"Boxing Day?" Kyle said, raising an eyebrow. "But the last chapter of this story is being updated on _Christmas._"

"Well, yeah, but gee-golly-gosh, Kyle, anybody who'd be reading fanfiction on Christmas would have to be a _real _geek."

"Yeah, that's true," Stan said. "Christmas is like, the one day you're _not_ supposed to be wasting time on the computer or watching TV or anything. You should be spending time with your family or playing with your new presents or something."

"That's right, Stan!" Mr. Hankey smiled and turned back to the readers. Because the fourth wall is just totally gone at this point. "So anyway, y'all have yourselves some happy holidays, and thanks for reading!"

THE END

* * *

Well, I finished it. Updated daily. I did consider just ending this fic at some point, since I didn't seem to be getting a lot of interest, but I figured I'd keep at it as a challenge for myself, and anyway, it would have been lame for those who were reading and reviewing. But I won't be doing an update-daily fanfic anytime soon. Too much work for not enough payoff.

But complaining aside, really, Merry Christmas. I hope you all enjoyed. :-) Now get off of the computer and go spend quality time with family or something, dammit!


End file.
